


Put Your Venom in Me

by gotatheory



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Power Play, a bit of bondage, mentions of Evil Queen/Hyde, mentions of Rumbelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:38:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8355544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotatheory/pseuds/gotatheory
Summary: A tag for 6.04 "Strange Case." Rumple returns to his shop after seeing Belle at the docks, angry over her rejection. The Evil Queen pays him another visit.





	

He can’t get Belle’s face out of his head. The utter look of disgust and hatred as she glared at him, and it’s nothing new. Not from her, not from himself. But it fills him with rage nonetheless, makes the darkness rise in his gut, twisting and twining itself around his black, black heart.

Rumple is in his shop, hands balled into fists as he stands at one of the counters, the dagger that bears his name next to his clenched fingers. He has everything, he has all the power and possessions he needs, and Hyde (and Jekyll) is dead.

Belle is safe.

But she still doesn’t love him. Still refuses to be with him. To understand that everything he does, he does for her, for their son, to keep them safe.

Rage bubbles, boils, overflows in him and spills out.

Rumple reaches for the nearest knicknack, closes his fingers around it and throws it at the opposite wall as hard as he can. Glass shatters, the sound sharp and satisfying, and the darkness surges.

He keeps going, throws everything he can in reach, and when he’s out of things to throw, he lets his magic rip through the air, anything to get that rage out. When he’s destroyed everything except the building itself, he waves a hand, fixes everything in a blink, and does it again.

Again.

So caught up in his rage, he doesn’t hear the bell as the door opens, doesn’t realize she’s there until she laughs.

Everything goes silent, his rage becoming subdued as he realizes he’s not alone. He looks at her, with her wide, triumphant smirk and dark brown eyes filled with mirth. She’s enjoying this, his pain, his rage, and he supposes that’s fair. He enjoyed hers enough, back in the Enchanted Forest.

But life isn’t fair, and seeing her like this, right now, has him seething.

“What do you want?” he asks, enunciating the end of each word carefully.

“Did trapping the bookworm on the ship not win her heart?” The Evil Queen teases, giggling at him.

At his side, the fingers of one hand clench into a tight fist, and it takes more effort than he wants to admit to uncurl them. He could shut her up. He might not be able to kill her but he could still quiet her. Choking her would have its own satisfaction, even if it didn’t end her life.

“Get. Out,” Rumple orders instead, and the Queen continues to smile at him.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Rumple?” she murmurs, as if she knows a secret. She takes a step towards him, another, approaches, sashays really, that mischievous little grin playing about her lips.

Gold tries to avert his eyes, but he can’t tear them away from the sway of her hips. He shakes his head just a little to clear it. Of his anger, his frustration, of the darkness brimming inside of hm, longing for something. “I have nothing to say to you,” he says, adding bitterly, “I’ve already said I’m not interested.”

The Evil Queen stops, flutters her eyelashes at him as she simpers, “Oh, Rumple, I think we both know that’s just not true.”

She’s close now, close enough he could reach out and touch her if he desired. Not that he does desire that, not when he’s still thinking of Belle, the woman he loves, the woman who has denied him again and again and refuses to understand he does everything for her. To protect her. To keep her safe.

 _She’s so ungrateful_ , the darkness whispers to him, but he ignores it in favor of saying, “Do we?” He raises an eyebrow at the Queen. “Or are you looking for a replacement?”

“Replacement?” she repeats, blinking at him in confusion.

“For Hyde,” he sneers, and it’s not like he’s envious. He likes riling her, poking at the scars of her past, so he tacks on, “Yet another romance of yours ended in death.”

She’s very skilled at maintaining her mask, but he still sees the way his barb lands. The flicker of pain and anger that crosses her face, burns in her eyes, and the magic rises in the air before she tamps it down.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were _jealous_ ,” the Queen replies, enunciating the word carefully, teasingly. She slinks forward, body almost serpentine in its movements, and now she’s unnervingly close, were he the sort to be unnerved by closeness.

“It’s good that you know better, then,” he says mildly, disinterested in her fanciful imaginings.

“Mm,” she hums, and her eyes search his face. “So it wouldn’t bother you at all if I talked about the things Hyde and I did together?”

“Only in so much as I don’t care to hear about your sexual escapades,” Rumple says, trying to inject as much disgust into his voice as possible. It sounds strained even to his ears, though, sounds a little false.

“So you don’t want to hear about how after we left here, I pulled him into an alleyway and let him fuck me against the wall of a building?” Her voice is low, dark, seductive.

His own darkness tugs at him, encourages him, and his hand clenches and releases at his side. He can picture them, though he doesn’t mean to. Can imagine Hyde’s hands upon her, touching her, pushing her against some edifice and defiling her in an alley. The darkness balks at it, pushes, whispers insidious things about Hyde taking things that didn’t belong to him.

“He was quite skilled,” the Queen continues, and she’s almost pressed against him, leaning in so that her voice is barely above a whisper, like the dark voices inside of his head. “Very talented, with his hands… His mouth… His _cock_.”

Rumple’s blood rushes in his ears, surging downward at the sound of her voice saying such lascivious words.

“Not that you care,” she murmurs, and her hand rests against his chest. He doesn’t grip her wrist, doesn’t try to remove it. “Because you’re not jealous.” She’s smirking at him, but he can’t see beyond the images in his head.

The Queen — Regina — pressed into a wall, in the morning light. Her hair and clothing in disarray, her mouth hung open as she cries out in pleasure. And between her thighs, not Hyde, but himself, his cock inside of her, making her sound like that. Making her look so debauched.

Her hand slides down his chest, going lower, and it’s her palm against his burgeoning erection that snaps him out of his imagination. Her grin is wide, triumphant, and she squeezes him over his trousers.

“Because, as you said yourself, you’re not interested,” she says, holding the evidence that he is very interested.

He kisses her. Stops holding back the darkness, stops thinking about Belle and how angry he is at her rejection of him, and instead grabs the Queen by the shoulders and crashes their mouths together.

She doesn’t even have the decency to act surprised at the suddenness. Instead, she grips at him, her hand dropping away from his trousers to wrap around his waist, the other going to his head. Her fingers try to find purchase in his hair, but it’s too short, her nails scraping painfully against his scalp.

He fights against her, she’s trying to control the kiss and _he_ is the one in charge, if they’re going to do this. He growls into her mouth, plunges his tongue past her lips, and buries his own fingers into the mass of her hair. When she tries to change the angle, he nips her bottom lip, sinks his teeth in and tugs.

It makes her gasp, just painful enough to provoke the sound and then she’s moaning, because of course she likes it rough.

Things become frenzied after that, both of them trying to establish dominance, hands pulling and tugging at clothing. He shoves her to a counter, lifts her up so that she can perch there. She spreads her legs, tugs him between them. Her head falls back as his mouth seeks out her neck.

He plants kisses down her throat, scrapes his teeth over her fluttering pulse before he sinks them into her skin. A primal part wants to mark her, wants to erase whatever claim Hyde laid to her. This is _his_ monster, and no one else’s.

She moans, the sound vibrating under his lips, and then she’s pulling him to her mouth. She kisses — bites, really, nips and sucks at his mouth, his tongue, and then she’s nibbling a path down his jaw. She finds his ear, flicks her tongue over the lobe.

“You know, Rumple,” she starts to say, gasping because he’s palming her breasts now, roughly, greedy fingers finding her nipples through the heavy fabric of her dress. “I’d almost say this is you being interested,” she laughs throatily, and he wants to shut her up.

He should pull away, tell her to get out of his shop, to stop coming to him. But instead, he seizes her mouth again, kissing harshly, and while she’s distracted with his mouth, he snaps his fingers.

She gasps, the cold air suddenly hitting her skin as his magic whisks away her clothes. She’s bare before him, and he can’t help but release her mouth so he can look at her. She’s a vision, as much as that pains him to admit. And she knows it as she plants her hands on the counter behind her and pushes out her chest, her eyes half-lidded as she looks at him looking at her.

“Still uninterested?” she teases, biting her lip as she brings a hand up to cup one of her breasts. His eyes are drawn to her chest, to her fingers as she tweaks her own nipple. “Maybe I should leave…”

He glares, but he refuses to answer her. Instead, he bends his head, sucks the nipple she’s not occupied with into his mouth while his hand covers hers over the other breast. His fingers join hers, squeezing and cupping, and the Queen moans loudly under his ministrations.

Rumple sucks at her, flicks his tongue until the nipple is hard beneath his lips. Then he pulls her hand away from her breast, kissing from the swell of one to the other. He dares to look up at her as he licks at her skin, and the sight of her hits like a punch to his gut. Her head is back, hair loose around her shoulders, her mouth open as she gasps and moans, eyes half-closed, resting back on her hands as her back arches to meet his mouth.

He bites back his own moan, his cock ridiculously hard for her now. His mouth pulls at her nipple, his hand finding the breast he abandoned and tugging at the hardened peak, setting a rough, hard rhythm that has pleasured sounds tumbling from the Queen’s lips. With every sound, he wants her more, feels his own self-hatred rising even as his arousal grows.

“More,” she orders, a hand cupping his head, pushing at him. She cries out, cutting off the cry by biting her own lip when he nips hard at her. “Rumple!”

“Ask nicely, dear,” he teases, releasing her breast and bringing his face to hers. He doesn’t move, studying her face.

She laughs, smirking at him and digging her nails into his scalp. “I want more,” she says, as if it’s that simple, and it’s not what he wants from her.

“Not badly enough, if you won’t even ask for it.” Rumple reaches up, pulling her hand away from his head and bringing it back to rest behind her. Magical ropes slither up around her wrists, holding them there, and she scowls as she tries to pull away. “Ask nicely, or you won’t be getting it.”

He’s angered her now, he can see it in her eyes, in the electrical current of magic in the air, and he kisses her, harsh and bruising. Sucks on her tongue and hears her whimper despite herself, and then he’s kissing down her jaw, whispering into her skin, “Just ask for it, Regina,” and she bristles at that, at her name, at her weaker half’s name.

But he knows how to play her, murmurs to her about how he has all the time in the world, how he’s not going anywhere as his hands cup her breasts. That he has no qualms at all about leaving her here on his countertop, tied up and wet for him. “And you are wet, aren’t you, Regina?” He licks a bead of sweat from her collarbone, traces the hollow at the base of her throat.

She shifts as much as she can on the counter, and he senses her desire. “Should I touch you and find out for sure?” he asks, one hand gliding down her torso, diverting at the last second to trail over her thigh. “Just ask for what you want, Regina…”

He looks up, just to see her face, and he can see the conflict. Her desire to be in control warring with her desire to be fucked. He waits, because he is nothing if not patient, especially when it comes to Regina.

“Gods damn it, Rumple,” she whines in frustration, her hips squirming, trying to work his hand closer to where she wants it. “Fuck me.”

“Almost there,” he murmurs, and his fingers trace closer to the wet heat of her, but still don't touch. “Try it again, dear, you’ve almost got it.”

The sound she lets out is pure anger and lust rolled into one as she finally manages, “ _Please_ ,” and oh, he thinks he’s never heard a better word falling from her lips. He rewards her instantly, cupping her and yes, she is so wet and hot, and he almost groans at the feel of her. He slips a finger inside, a second one, fucks her just like that for a few minutes before he’s pulling them out.

“Damn it, Rumple!” she shouts, yanking at her wrists futilely. Magic pulses from her, undirected and sloppy, bypasses him and bursts against the opposite wall in sparks and light. “Fuck me!”

He ignores her outburst, drops quick, tongue-filled kisses down her torso and falls to his knees. It’s servient, he knows, giving up some of his control but well, her arms are tied and he wants to taste her. Needs to drag his tongue through the heart of her.

It settles her, and Rumple is sure she’s smirking, but he doesn’t care. Not when he’s cutting off any remark she might make with a well-placed lick of his tongue, gathering her wetness and letting it bloom over his tastebuds. He moans into her, can’t resist, and then he’s sucking at her clit.

Rumple isn’t sure what he loves most about this, the way she tastes or the moans and cries she’s letting out as he pleasures her with his mouth. It thrills him, reducing the Evil Queen to this with just his mouth, and his fingers as he eases two back inside of her. He fucks her hard and fast, curling his fingers inside of her and seeking out that spot. He knows when he finds it, can’t help but smirk when her cries go sharper, her hips bucking into his touch.

“Yes, right there,” the Queen gasps, and he glances at her face, just long enough to take in her expression, twisted with bliss and pleasure. Then he ducks his head back down, wraps his lips around her clit and gives a long, hard suck.

“Oh, fuck, like that,” she shouts, and Rumple grins as he flicks his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves. “Rumple! I’m — oh, yes!”

He feels it, her orgasm, the way she tightens around his fingers and fuck, he loves it. Revels in feeling her clench and spasm for him, because of him. He keeps his fingers moving, keeps licking at her until her hips try to move away from him, and then he’s rising to his feet. Keeps his fingers inside of her, just to feel the aftershocks as she does.

“Did you enjoy that, Regina?” he murmurs to her, leans in and actually nuzzles her cheek, almost gentle as she tries to regulate her breathing. “Tell me.”

She makes a soft noise, raises her head and turns toward him, accepting his mouth in a deep, languid kiss. “More,” she breathes against his lips.

Rumple squeezes his eyes shut a moment, thinking to himself _fuck yes_ , or maybe it’s the darkness. He doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t care. With a snap of his fingers, they’re swallowed by smoke, whisked away from the main room of his shop to the back, where there’s a cot.

The Queen is on her back for him, and his magic has stripped him of his suit, leaving them naked and pressed together. She gasps, surprised, and his fingers are still inside her, and he can’t help but tease her with a few thrusts. She bucks to meet him, and he’s freed her hands, so she grasps at his shoulders as she writhes.

“That’s it, dearie,” he breathes against the skin of her neck, pumping his fingers into her, slow and steady to rile her up again. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My fingers inside of you, fucking you?”

She scowls at him, and he doesn’t know quite how she manages it, but she pulls his hand away from her and flips them. Now, he’s the one pressed into the cot, and she’s rising above him, straddling him.

He’s lost control now, but he can’t bring himself to care as his hands find her hips. She smirks down at him, rolling her hips against his hardness and he groans, closing his eyes against the lust that floods him. He’s at her entrance, her slickness sliding over his cock, and it won’t take much to enter her.

She keeps her pace slow, grinding against him and chuckling when he tries to encourage her to go faster with his hands and his own bucking hips. Her hands find his wrists, peeling them away and placing them by his head. “Do you want me, Rumple?” she asks, leaning in close to whisper the words between them.

Rumple groans, his lips pursing tightly shut. He does, it's obvious he does, his erection straining between them. But he won't give her the satisfaction of saying it. He won't.

The Queen leverages her hips up and away from him even as she bites at his lower lip, tugging on it. When she releases it, she murmurs, “Not until you say it, dearie,” and he can hear the smile in her voice as she uses his own tactic against him.

He opens his eyes, sees that cruel smile, and he should want to wipe it away. Should want to punish her for thinking she has the upperhand here. But his cock strains for her, and he wants to feel her slick heat wrapped around him. So he swallows that bit of the Dark One that wants him to take control and licks his lips.

“Yes, Regina,” he breathes out, barely a whisper, and of course that’s not enough.

She laughs above him, flicks her tongue against his mouth. “Again, louder. Tell me what you want,” she teases, lowering her hips to meet his, just enough to give him a hint of her.

Rumple grits his teeth, jaw clenching as she drags her wetness over his erection. And then she’s gone, and his hips jerk, trying to chase her. “Regina,” he growls, “I want you.”

“Oh? Do you, Rumple?” Her eyes glitter with amusement, looking down at him with a smirk that splits her face. “Does that mean you _are_ interested?”

“Fucking hell, Regina,” he snarls, twisting his hands in her grasp, but she’s surprisingly strong. He could get her off him, could overpower her even with the magic she’s using against him right now. But instead, he lets her hold him down, lets her keep herself levered above him. And his head falls back onto the cot, his mouth forming the words she wants to hear, “Yes, I’m interested. Yes, I want you. Now please, Your Majesty, _fuck me_.”

His pleases might have lost their punch a long time ago, but with the way the Queen lets go of his wrist to take his cock in her hand, it’s almost as if the word still affects her. Then she’s sinking down on him, taking him in with little resistance, and Rumple can’t think of anything else but the feel of her.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, eyes squeezing shut as she begins to move, rough and fast. She sets a brutal pace, rests one hand on his chest and the other holding his wrist as she rides him.

The Queen moves over him, bucking and swirling her hips, never letting up her quick pace. She lets go of his wrist, and Rumple opens his eyes, tries to move his hands from beside his head only to feel her magic wrapped around them. She smirks down at him, muttering something like, “Turnabout’s fair play, hmm?” as she runs her hands over her own torso.

Rumple’s mouth waters as he watches her, watches the way she cups her own breasts and teases her nipples. He wants to taste her skin again, but he won’t beg again. He’ll content himself with watching, and in moving his hips up to meet her downward thrusts, drawing sounds out of her that are high and pleasured.

This won’t take long, he thinks, not with the picture she makes as her head falls back, a sharp gasp torn from her throat. He can feel the tightening low in his gut, the ecstasy churning inside of him.

“Are you close, Rumple?” she breathes out, head falling forward now to look at him. Her gaze is unfocused, half-lidded and dazed as she keeps moving, keeps rolling her hips to meet his. “Are you going to come?”

He is, he’s going to come for her, because of her, and he should hate himself for it. Maybe he does, but his head is too clouded by how good she feels. How good she’s making him feel. “Fuck — _Regina_ ,” he groans, pulling at the magical bonds holding his hands down. He wants to grab her hips, to hold her against him and empty inside of her, but she won’t relent.

“Yes,” she hisses, and he looks at her, tries to focus on her face, her hands, one of which she’s slid down to where they’re joined. Her fingers work against her clit and he clenches his jaw, biting his tongue as her hips stutter.

“That’s it, Regina,” he says, feeling her clench around him, the telltale signs of her impending orgasm. “Let me feel you come.”

She shouts then, her head jerking back as she comes, hips losing their rhythm. It’s even better watching her come like this, feeling her flutter around his cock instead of his fingers, and Rumple moans as his own orgasm grips him. He bucks into her, thrusts once, twice, three more times and then he spurts into her.

His blood roars in his ears as his body sags into the cot, his breath heavy as his heart races. The Queen slumps against him, her breasts pressed into his chest and her head resting on his shoulder. It takes him a moment to realize she’s released his hands from her magic, and then he’s unsure of what to do with them.

Awkwardly, he brings them down, can’t quite resist lightly touching the skin of her back with one, the other finding her hip. She’s soft and hot, skin dewy with sweat from their activities, and the remnants of arousal spark in his blood. He wants to take her in every way he can imagine, wants to make her scream for him, make her forget about anything that Hyde might have done.

As if she can hear his thoughts, the Queen snickers, turning her head to nip at his skin. “Well, that wasn’t so bad now, was it, Rumple?” she murmurs, her lips ghosting up his neck until she reaches his lips.

The kiss is languid, almost tender, and Rumple accepts it when he should be pushing her away. Should be telling her to get the hell out of his shop. Instead he kisses her, slides his tongue past her lips and enjoys the post-coital emotions swirling through him.

She sits up once the kiss ends, the cot is too small for her to lay beside him. So instead, she climbs off, his softening cock slipping from her as she stands, and he can see the evidence of their encounter drying on her thighs. “As fun as this distraction was,” she says, snapping her fingers, smoke obscuring her form and then it’s her dress hiding her from his view. “I do have chaos to cause.”

Rumple sits up, and he should clean himself up too, should get dressed. It’s as he’s considering that (and considering making her stay, considering bending her over the cot and fucking her from behind) that she says, “Wanna join me, Dark One?”

He shouldn’t. He absolutely should not get even more involved in her plots. She won’t hurt Belle directly, she’s promised. But then again, a little chaos might help Belle realize she needs him. He flicks his wrist, so that he’s clothed by the time he stands up, and he smiles at her.

“Looks like we’re back where we belong, dearie,” he says, and the Queen smirks.

“Together.”


End file.
